Colors of Hesitation (Brown and Gold)
by Evelynhunters
Summary: Or the two times death hesitated. /whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same. /one-shot


Disclaimer: I do not own the thing that breaks my heart.

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 **Colors of Hesitation (Brown and Gold)**

by: Evelynhunters

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I believe I have gotten soft. I have watched countless couples wrenched apart by me. I have seen mothers' tears and fathers' cries. I have done deeds of immeasurable cruelty when a loved one is torn away without a second thought other than pity.

And yet, in a dust filled house on a bomb dropped street, I hesitated.

 **A FACT ABOUT ME**

 **Death does not hesitate.**

My hands trembled against the countless souls I had cradled in my arms. I have room in my arms, though. Always room during the times of war. I had started to pick up the Steiner children from youngest to oldest, and now, as I stand before a pair of feet peeking his bed sheets with the souls of his siblings in my arms falling against me picking him up, I hesitated.

He's dead, that's for sure, and behind me I can hear the anguished cries of a book thief. He's got his arms around one of his sisters who occupied most of the bed as he titters unmovingly on the edge. His face is peaceful. In sleep. The calm after a storm, the silence over the sea.

I don't want to take him, but I always do, and I have to do it.

 **ANOTHER FACT ABOUT ME**

 **A hesitation in death does not make him alive, nor does me picking his soul up make him die. I am merely a soul collector, I do not decide whether they live.**

I hesitated, then I took, then I maneuvered his soul next to his siblings on my arms. I took greater care with him, I will admit, and I looked into his soul.

I see flashes of splashing water, of a black painted boy racing, of annoyance at his sister for taking his bed, of a blond neighbor and what her kiss would taste like, of youth and time and forever to figure it out.

Crucified Christ how he loved that girl.

It adds to the ever growing pile of evidence that I'm getting soft when the lurching in my chest clenched so hard that I nearly doubled over.

But no, while my hesitation may have been kind, l quickly left Himmel street with heavy souls and a newly acquired book. I didn't allow Rudy's soul to say goodbye to Liesel.

He breaks my non beating heart, this lemon colored hair s _aumensch_ with a heart of a hopeless romantic, as his soul pulls towards hers. He tugs and clenches on my clothes, struggling to move towards her. He whines as he complains about a kiss he can't even feel.

The sky is a murky blend of brown from all the souls I have in my arms, but I prefer to think that even in death Rudy Steiner is thinking about Liesel's eyes.

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I lied. I had said before I never hesitate, but I did again.

This time it was with Liesel. She lived to have a very long life, far away from Molching and far away from Himmel street. Her soul is sitting up, appraising me, just like her papa. There's little glitters in the air, reflecting at every light and casts a shimmering effects over the room.

I hesitated again, but for a different reason.

I don't collect her right away. I sit with her and give her a book worn out from my hands. The writing is faded, almost gone, but her hand traces the imprints and she knows they are there. I have read it all, I tell her. She mouth the words, her last words on the last page. She has done them justice, I tell her.

 _Thank you_ , she says.

She's lived a fantastic life, a husband and children and grandchildren. She has photos of them lining her bedroom table. She tells me about her papa and mama. About a hidden Jew who lived. The warm golden sun of Sydney hits through her window. It's soft, bright, and almost reminds me of a s _aumensch_ with the same color hair.

There's a soul in my pocket that has been screaming her name since we got here. I don't know what his heartbreak will feel like when he sees her. Old now. Married. Lived a long and fantastic life. Have kids, grandkids, and thinks about him in the fleeting way of what ifs and if onlys.

They have the most tragic love story I have ever seen.

I have gone soft, I think, as I gently take him out of my pocket. He's hesitant almost, looking at his feet and his bomb dusted clothes. His pijamas.

I would give them some privacy, but I don't have much time.

She smiles at him, and I can see her changing to a little girl with a tongue in her mouth, tasting the words of a language she hasn't spoken in years.

 _How about a kiss, Saumensch?_

And he grins. And grins. And he takes her hand and they kiss and they taste the ashes and heartbreak on their lips. She tastes like regret, he thinks, with dust in his hair and closed eyes.

She's thinking about you, Rudy. About how you never got to grew up and live. She's regretting not kissing you sooner. She's regretting telling you 'I love you' only after you died. She's regretting thinking that she had forever, like you did.

 **A FACT**

 **Humans are both tragic and strong because of their mortality, and it is not the first nor the last time I will hate my job.**

I walk out of the house and look at the sky.

It's gold.

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AN/ I don't know why I did this to myself. I don't know why guys. I don't know why.

This was un betaed, so if you find any mistakes please comment. Don't forget to favorite, either. ;)

Note: I do not own the line in the summary. That is by Emily Bronte.


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